


I've Been Holding Back The Night

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 80's Music, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Arthur gives in and tells Eames he wants a relationship. With a Survivor song. Because cheesy 80s ballad songfic occasionally happens.





	I've Been Holding Back The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I was driving home from work today, listening to an 80s radio station, and a Survivor song came on. As I was belting out the lyrics in traffic I found myself thinking, huh, this sounds like something Arthur/Eamesish...let me look up the lyrics to "I Can't Hold Back"...
> 
> Next thing I knew I had missed dinner and had some 1800 words of unexpected songfic on my hands.

_Come and find me_, read the text message from the unlisted number Arthur had been using.

Eames glanced around his hotel room with a frown. The job was on hold since the mark had left town unexpectedly, and everyone, including Arthur, had taken a few days off. It was actually welcome, since the damn client had introduced so many complications that they'd been working on this extraction for three months now with no clear end in sight.

Three months of daily interaction with Arthur. Three months plus too many years of this dance with Arthur that had lead nowhere, though Eames admitted, to himself at least, that he'd never come right out and said anything point blank.

Well, he shouldn't have to, should he? He'd been flirting with and teasing Arthur for all this time and gotten nothing real back. A man couldn't survive on just an occasional smile or amused glance shared across a room, could he?

He was about ready to walk off the job anyway. The client was a nightmare, the team was tearing itself apart with infighting, Eames was losing patience since neither the extractor nor the architect wanted a forger’s input, and Arthur was struggling to keep up with the new research the client and the extractor kept tossing at him and still keep the team working together.

He could see Arthur battling himself to keep from snapping at people. He could see the dark circles under his eyes from less and less sleep as this job dragged on, the slope of his shoulders as he hunched over his laptop, the impatience written in every twitch of his back muscles as someone said something else stupid.

Eames had been trying to distract the team from arguing over the architect’s design yet again by teasing the chemist about his choice of music. Eames had admitted to a love of 80s rock and pop and the chemist had brayed his contempt loudly until Arthur had slammed his laptop closed and gotten up to make coffee, his clear irritation silencing all argument.

Eames had longed to go soothe him, but the last time he'd touched Arthur's shoulder to get his attention had gotten him nothing but a wince and a flinch away.

And really, it couldn't be clearer than that, could it?

But now this text. Eames rubbed his eyes and sighed. As if he could refuse anything Arthur asked of him, any scrap the man deigned to toss to him. If he'd been able to get Arthur out of his system, he'd have done it long before now. 

There was no answer to his knock at Arthur's hotel room door, but the Do Not Disturb sign was on the knob. He picked the lock and cautiously opened the door, calling out quietly as he entered.

Arthur was laying asleep on one half of the king bed, hooked up to his PASIV. Another coil of tubing was waiting on the other half of the bed, cannula and needle wrapped in a still-damp alcohol wipe, clearly ready to be inserted.

Eames stood beside the bed and scowled down at Arthur. His face was calm in sleep, but the lines of exhaustion and tension still showed, and the circles under his eyes darker than ever. He’d showered recently; his hair was soft and curled, free of gel, and he was dressed in well-worn jeans and a soft black t-shirt. His feet were bare and Eames suddenly wanted to touch them, feel the hard bones and tendons and stroke the fine muscles that wrapped around them and held them together. Arthur's hands were open, one on the bed and one resting on his stomach, long strong fingers relaxed.

Giving in to the inevitable, Eames settled on the other half of the bed and hooked up to the PASIV, glancing at Arthur one more time before starting the flow.

He was standing in a department store staring at a collection of mannequins showing men’s three-piece suits. The canned instrumental music was playing too loudly and Eames winced, heading for an exit. Something ballad-ish from the 80s, he thought, mutated into horrible elevator music.

Outside, the street reminded him of London and he found his shoulders relaxing a bit. A car passed by, the driver screeching along with a song. Something about holding back, Eames thought. No, he was shouting ‘I can't hold back.’ Some song by Survivor, wasn't it?

Eames wandered along the sidewalk, passing a café. The faint music drifting out caught his attention and he paused to listen.

_There's a story in my eyes_

_Turn the pages of desire_

_Now it's time to trade those dreams_

_For the rush of passion's fire_

He nodded, walking on. Survivor was indeed the group, but he couldn't immediately place the title.

As he continued down the street, he passed a group of teenagers, one of whom was dramatically serenading his girlfriend with his iPhone on speaker.

_Can you feel me tremble when we touch_

_And I feel the hand of fate_

_Reaching out to both of us_

_I've been holding back the night_

_I've been searching for a clue from you_

Eames blinked at the little scene until the girlfriend shoved the guy to shut him up and then kissed him.

He walked on, the song stuck in his head now. The song title was “I Can't Hold Back,” he remembered.

A taxi pulled up as he was waiting at a street corner trying to decide which direction to go, windows down and radio turned up.

_I'm gonna try with all my might_

_To make this story line come true_

_Can you feel me tremble when we touch_

_Can you feel the hand of fate_

_Reaching out to both of us_

_This love affair can't wait_

“I'm getting the picture,” Eames grumbled as the taxi drove off. “So where the hell are you, Arthur?”

Further down the street, he passed a record store, which was inevitably playing the same song.

_I can't hold back, I'm on the edge_

_Your voice explodes inside my head_

_I can't hold back, I won't back down_

_It's too late to turn back now_

_Another shooting star goes by_

_And in the night the silence speaks to you and I_

_And now the time has come at last_

_Don't let the moment run too fast_

Eames glared at the music store, glared down the street in both directions. A man in a fluorescent pink and orange shirt and acid-washed jeans grinned at him and offered him a flyer before rambling off across the street.

_80s Karaoke Night!_ it read. _Gather up your courage and risk embarrassment and scorn to the best of the 1980s! Tonight only at the Last Oasis Pub!_

Eames looked up. Directly across the street was a dingy looking pub, complete with a faded and partially burnt-out neon palm tree. His mouth twitched in reluctant amusement as he crossed the road and went in.

Arthur was on stage at the back of the pub, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was loose and he was pushing it back with one hand while he sang into a microphone, eyes closed, voice rich and deep and caressing the lyrics.

_I can feel you tremble when we touch_

_And I feel the hand of fate reaching out to both of us_

_There's a story in my eyes, turn the pages of desire_

_Now it's time to trade those dreams_

_For the rush of passion's fire_

_I can't hold back, I'm on the edge_

_Your voice explodes inside my head_

_I can't hold back, I won't back down_

_It's too late to turn back now_

There was a scatter of applause as the music ended and Arthur glanced around, blushing a little, before he put the microphone back in the stand and left the stage, walking over to the bar. The bartender handed him a bottle with a nod and a smile.

Arthur leaned back against the bar and tipped the bottle up, drinking it all down, and Eames stared at his throat as he swallowed. Someone else drunkenly congratulated Arthur on his singing, and he nodded and turned away, faked smile fading to a sad look.

Eames came over to stand next to him at the bar. “I've never quite understood what they meant by the line ‘I've been holding back the night,’” he said conversationally. “Holding it back how? And why would you want to?”

Arthur turned to look at him, face tightly controlled as he studied Eames’ expression. “I've always thought it was more about clinging to a hope, not letting a last opportunity pass by without doing something.”

Eames raised a hand to tuck a curl behind Arthur's ear as he'd wanted to do for years. “Was this our last opportunity, darling?”

“You were going to take off tonight, and I couldn't blame you.”

Eames stroked his fingers through Arthur's hair and Arthur let his head tip back, his hand coming up to touch Eames’ shoulder.

“And why does it matter now? Why now, and not any time in the past century or so that I've wanted you?” Eames asked softly, leaning in to run the tip of his nose up Arthur's throat.

Arthur made a quiet breathy sound, hands pulling Eames closer. “These past three months…we wouldn't have made it this far without you, without your sense of humor defusing the fights, without your clever way of inserting your brilliant solutions and making those assholes think they came up with them…you've always been talented and smart and the best forger in the world, but I've never seen you be patient and steady and diplomatic. And…”

Eames nuzzled behind his ear. “And?” he prompted.

“And you've been quietly taking care of me, too. No real teasing, which I've missed, but you've been bringing me coffee, and deflecting the worst of the arguments, and protecting me in dozens of other tiny ways.”

“Of course I have, Arthur.”

“And I've been so wrapped up in trying to get this fucking job _done_ that I've let you do that without acknowledging it. Without…” He swallowed and hid against Eames’ shoulder for a moment before straightening to look him in the face. “It always seemed like just a game to you before. I never thought you'd take anything with me seriously, and I don't…I'm not looking for a casual relationship. But now I think you might want more than just playing a game, and…”

Eames kissed him to shut him up and it was glorious. Arthur moaned against Eames’ mouth as he gave up control, clutching Eames’ shirt and grinding his hips against him.

When they stopped to breathe, Eames grinned at him. “Don't hold back, Arthur.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “It's too late to turn back now.”


End file.
